We have to work really hard to get the beach cleaned up. All night, in fact.
And I have to tell Grandma.
Who tells Eric’s dad, who, it turns out, is really good at scrubbing deckchairs.
‘Remind me why we’re doing this,’ says Jacob, managing a steady warm hand-dryer heat over the parasols that Eric and his dad have scrubbed ready for steaming.
‘Because we want to win the Best Beach contest,’ says Eric.
‘But I thought we didn’t want to win.’ Jacob’s eyes flash red as he adds heat to Eric’s fine spray of water and steams another pile of parasols.
‘Mr Fogg wants to win,’ says Eric patiently, ‘but we don’t want the big businesses to take over the town. We need to make the beach inspectors think that everything’s perfect, but make life uncomfortable for the international conglomerates.’
Which gives me a brilliant idea.
‘Have we washed everything?’ I say.
‘Well, apart from that lot over there.’ Eric points at a last pile of chairs, flexing under a large tarpaulin.
‘Fine, job well done,’ says Grandma, opening up a thermos and pouring everyone a slightly blobby paper cup of hot chocolate. ‘Almost there, chaps.’
‘I’ll clean up the last few,’ I say, ‘if Eric will stay. You take Mr Fogg home, Grandma – we’ll finish up.’
Grandma gives me a hard stare. ‘If you’re sure, Tom.’
‘I’m sure,’ I say.
‘I’m sure too,’ says Jacob. ‘Beddy-byes for meeeeee. Night, all.’ And he wanders off the beach up towards the town, sending little sparks from his feet as he walks.
Grandma takes Mr Fogg by the elbow. ‘Come on, Albert, get yourself a few hours’ sleep before the crowds arrive.’
‘What crowds?’ says Mr Fogg. ‘No one’ll come after all this chaos – will they?’
‘They’ll come,’ says Grandma reassuringly. ‘Don’t you worry.’
‘If you think so.’ Mr Fogg shakes his head. ‘And I can’t believe all that steam – how did we get all that steam?’ He looks puzzled.
‘Well, Albert …’ I hear Grandma making up stories to explain Jacob’s and Eric’s powers as she and Mr Fogg stagger over the sands towards the steps. ‘It’s like this …’
‘What are we doing with these, Tom?’ asks Eric, pointing at the chairs left in the heap.
‘This,’ I say, forming an O with my finger and thumb, and taking a sighting on them.
Click.
The tiny chairs and tarpaulin lie in the palm of my hand, snapping and wriggling.
Eric peers over my shoulder, looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’
The first strip of dawn light hovers in the east as we scuttle along the promenade towards the Royal Hotel.
‘It was what you said about making life uncomfortable for the international conglomerates.’
‘Yes?’
We stop at the back of the hotel. ‘You were absolutely right. That’s what we need to do, so that’s what we are doing. Open the door.’
Eric tugs at the door handle as if he’s expecting it to bite him and we stand in the opening looking in at the kitchen. The lights are on, and pots and pans are simmering, but it appears to be empty.
‘Go on,’ I say, gripping the deckchairs tightly in my hands.
‘But aren’t we trespassing?’
‘This is an emergency. We’re allowed to trespass,’ I say, tiptoeing past him into the kitchen. We pause, listening by spitting pans full of bacon. ‘I can’t hear anyone – let’s go on to the hall.’
‘Really?’ Eric’s gone snot-pale.
The huge hallway is empty except for a vacuum cleaner and a radio playing quietly in the corner. There’s another sound, a kind of whispering, rubbing sound and I realise it’s Eric shaking, his springs of hair trembling against each other.
‘Bung one over there somewhere,’ I say, nodding towards the receptionist’s desk.
In the same way that you would pick up a crab, Eric takes a single deckchair from my hand and places it in the desk drawer.
He lets out a silly little giggle and clamps his fingers over his mouth. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Where next?’
We slip into the housekeeping room and drop three more in the trolleys that chambermaids use to clean up rooms.
‘And one in here,’ says Eric, dropping one in the umbrella stand.
Finally, as we sneak out of the kitchen, we slip one more in the scrambled eggs and another in the cereal.
Eric beams as we step out into the street. ‘That’s the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done,’ he says, grinning and clapping his hands. ‘I loved it.’
I open my hand. ‘We’ve still got these,’ I say, looking at six more deckchairs and a parasol. ‘If you want to do some more?’
‘Marigold’s,’ he says. ‘Didn’t Mr Fogg say there was a burger chain interested?’
The streets are still empty and the seagulls are setting out for a day’s squawking as we head down the quay towards the boat-booking kiosk.
A fisherman nods to us as we saunter along the harbour wall. He doesn’t look at us for long – he’s too busy mending his nets – so we’re able to get really close to the Marigold Tours boats.
It takes no more than a minute to drop three deckchairs on each boat and the parasol into a cabin and then step away.
‘Right,’ says Eric. ‘Is that it then?’
‘Yes – let’s go home, get some sleep and meet again in a few hours.’
I don’t get anything like as much sleep as I need.
‘You are failing in your duty as a brother!’ Tilly bellows, slamming my bedroom door open and kicking my carefully constructed model of the International Space Station out of the window.
‘Hey!’ I shout, trying to wake up and protect myself against more damage.
‘Well, you are – you’re pathetic.’ Six months’ collection of bottle tops follows the ISS into the garden. ‘You haven’t made them stop!’
She stares at me, her hair wild, her hands on hips.
I can’t summon the words, so Tilly goes on.
‘They’re compounding it. They’re making it worse – she’s running with HIM!’ She points in the general direction of Eric’s house. ‘And Dad –’ Tilly pinches her face into a dismal on-the-edge-of-tears frown – ‘I can’t bear another day at school with him there.’ She sits on my bed and does a long drawn-out sob.
I think she’s forgotten that it’s me – that I don’t fall for this stuff.
‘Um,’ I say in the end.
‘Tom,’ she says pitifully. ‘Save me.’ She melts towards me, laying her head very close to mine. Snuggling up, her hair lying across my pillow. Our cheeks touch.
I open my mouth to say something profound and comforting, nearly say something mean and from the heart, and decide that probably the best policy is to say nothing at all.
Only then do I remember she still has head lice.